Revolution  UsUk
by HitachiinElephant
Summary: Arthur happens to stumble upon his old diary he kept back when Alfred was still just a toddler. Memories return, and he calls on Alfred to comfort him. Fail summary fails. Just read it. UsUk


He still didn't know why he had to come over to England's all of a sudden. He was also calling him fat or an idiot and saying other numerous things about him that weren't so nice. Yet, he here he was, driving to the Brit's house. He tried to find a reason he might need him there now, remembering the call earlier that morning.

_"'Sup, England?" He had his head tilted so the phone was sandwiched between his shoulder and ear as he put together a model airplane out of boredom._

_ He spoke as if it were an emergency almost, but not as serious. "America? Can you come over to my house? Soon?"_

_ He was a little shocked at this. "Your house? Why-"_

_ "Can you?"_

_ Someone was in a hurry, apparently. "I guess."_

_ There was a short silence. "Good. Hurry up."_

_ The dial tone was already heard before he could answer._

Alfred Jones still couldn't figure out why Arthur wanted him to drive all the way out to his house. He hoped it wasn't to try some new experiment he called food. He shuddered at the thought. He almost died last time. He swore the Brit used Black Magic on his creations sometimes.

When he finally arrived at England's house, the American still didn't know why he was summoned. He sighed and decided it was probably just a drunk call. Even if it was, he still needed to come by. Who knows what havoc he might be causing if he was drunk.

He sighed before knocking on the door. "England?"

The voice was soft and cracked. "C-Come in, Alfred." The sound of the Brit moving things was heard as he spoke.

The American hesitated a moment, the sound of his voice worrying him a little. He only heard him speak like that once, and that was so long ago at a time he rarely ever thought of. He turned the handle and opened the door, freezing at the sight in the Englishman's house.

Arthur was putting what looked like an old notebook away in a drawer, but he was also frozen, staring back at the other blond. His eyes were stained lightly with red, as well as his face. Wet lines were drawn down his cheeks to his chin, although they were slightly dried.

"Britain?" Something told him to run up and give the older nation a hug. He looked so pained.

"A-America…" He stared for a moment more, still holding the small journal in his hand before dropping it in the drawer and running up to quickly embrace the younger male, burying his face in his shoulder. "America… America, America, America…" He repeated the name over and over softly, gripping the other's shirt tightly.

The North American's face flushed a light shade of pink at the sudden action, confusing him even more. The repetition of his name kept him from questioning anything in depth. "Britain, I'm here. What the hell is going on that you needed me here for?" He kept his arms at his sides, not exactly the type to hug Kirkland.

However, he saw the shorter blond's shoulders shaking and heard the sharp intakes of air. Could it be that England was crying? "A-Arthur, seriously, what's wrong?" Alfred asked, concerned as he wrapped his arms around the other. He stroked his hair soothingly, trying to calm him down.

"Why?"

The word came out a soft whisper. "What?"

"Why?"

That tone of voice. He never heard Arthur speak like that. Except…

Except that one time.

_"Why? Dammit, why?"_

The memory pained him deeply. He remembered seeing this once strong nation, on his knees in the mud, a hand covering his face as he wept. Not even the heavy rain of that day could hide the man's tears of pain. Such a historic day, both in American history and in Alfred's heart.

America led the Brit to the couch and helped him sit. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

England took a moment to bring himself back together a bit, wiping his eyes. "I found… I found my old journal… The one I wrote in after I found you…" He pointed to the drawer he had dropped the small book in. "It brought up so many memories, and…" Tears slipped down his cheeks again before he buried his face in his hands.

The younger nation understood completely. Britain's journal was like his storage closet. Full of memories. He stood up to retrieve the book, examining the cover that was worn from age and abuse. "Arthur, do you mind if-"

"No, no. Go right ahead." His eyes followed the taller blond as he returned to sit with him, opening the notebook.

_Today, my little America had a bit of a problem. He had wondered off again while I was reading previous entries. I didn't notice he was gone until I heard him screaming bloody murder. It scared the living daylights out of me. I ran off to find him, but it was more than difficult due to the fact he went into the forest and his voice came from all directions. Finally, after a few moments of concentration, I found the young lad backed against a large tree, staring with wet, wide eyes at a small, fuzzy animal he hadn't seen before. I heard him whimper my name and run to me while the creature was distracted._

_ I brought him away from the animal and back to where I sat before. He was still going on about how scary it was and everything that made it scary. The sharp teeth and claws, its big size, the horrible growling… It was cute watching him fret about the creature. I sat with him and patted his back, trying to soothe the young one. He soon fell asleep in my arms, though._

_ I loved watching him sleep. He always looked so cute._

Alfred couldn't help but chuckle. "I was cute when I was little, wasn't I?" he smiled, looking to the Englishman.

"Yes, you were. And you knew it, too." He reached over and turned the page, pointing at a new entry halfway down.

_I really do let America get away with so much, don't I? Damn my weakness._

_ The young one finished his food quickly tonight and was begging for seconds. I told him no, but he used his cuteness against me. He had a pouty lip and large blue eyes staring up at me. I couldn't help but give in._

The American smirked and looked up at England, trying to pull the same face. He jut out his bottom lip and watched him with crystal blue eyes.

"You were really spoiled back the-" When he turned his gaze to meet the younger male's he froze up. That same face. That face he gave into so many times before. Even now, it was still so… So adorable.

He quickly cleared his throat and looked away. "Stop that, America. You can't pull it off these days." He took the journal from the dirty-blond and flipped ahead, stopping a dozen or two pages later. He pointed to a new paragraph, accented with splotches of red and brown. "Here. This is why you found me the way you did today…" He gave him the book back nervously, looking away again.

Alfred took the notebook, watching the nation carefully before reading.

_I've lost him. Forever._

_ Where was he? Where was the sweet, innocent America I once knew and loved?_

_ Was he shot by the new America's musket? Murdered by his own self and never to be considered the same as the new America?_

_ Why couldn't he be here on this inglorious day of mine? He could have stopped everything. The fighting, the shooting…_

_ The hurt._

_ No. Little America was dead to the world, now, replaced by this new America I wish never was. All that's left of the sweet little lad I loved are those innocent eyes of his. Even when fighting to leave me, his eyes still carried that sweet, childish innocence._

_ Those eyes… They still make me give in to what he wanted._

_ It's me and him on the battle field. I'm alone, and he still has at least a dozen men backing him up. I rid him of his musket, pointing my own at his face. Even then, he stood strong, and it showed. I possibly could have won. It was a slim chance, but I could have._

_ But I made the mistake of looking straight into those blue eyes. So innocent without even trying. So…_

_ So cute._

_ I gave in right then and there. I hid my eyes with my own abused hand, stopping myself from looking into those damn pools again. But it was too late. They were in my head, tearing me apart, using each memory of that small child to weaken me on the inside. The wrath of those eyes left me only to question the now young man…_

_ Why?_

Alfred stared at the small book. He knew he hurt England that final day of the Revolutionary War, but… He didn't know he hurt him so much. He didn't even try to hurt him inside and he did. It almost made the younger nation feel like a monster.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tear slide down Kirkland's cheek. "A-Arthur, I'm sorry." Without giving him time to speak, Alfred wrapped his arms around the Brit, hugging him tightly as tears slid down his own cheeks. "I'm so sorry…"

A few moments passed by in silence. America was waiting for the other to push him away, spitting out insults or something. However, he felt two arms hug him back, both hands gripping his shoulders. "You idiot… Y-You left me alone… I've m-missed you so much, A-Alfred… Why couldn't w-we just s-stay brothers?" The smaller body shook against the larger one.

"We are still brothers, Arthur," the younger male whispered softly, pulling back and lifting the other's chin to look into his wet emerald eyes. "As a country, I became independent from you." Arthur winced visibly from the word 'independent' and Alfred continued quickly. "B-But as people… We're still brothers. I still love you like my brother. And I always will."  
>Arthur stared up at the other, staring into the baby blue eyes. Memories whizzed through his head. Memories of Alfred. He could see him now as a small toddler with his favorite white nightgown and his bunny rabbit doll, running through a prairie. As a growing boy who played toy soldiers with Arthur in the living room of their old home. As a slowly parting teenager who began to question Arthur. As a young man, musket in hand aimed at Arthur, finger on the trigger.<p>

As a childish man, who wanted nothing more than to love Arthur like a brother.

The Briton pressed his face into Alfred's chest, gripping the other's sleeves tightly. "I-I love you, A-Alfred," he whispered, his voice cracking a bit. "I love you s-so much."  
>Alfred smiled warmly and kissed his head, gently rubbing his back. "I love you, too, Arthur."<p>

And on that day, they had a second revolution. No longer were they countries that had grown apart from each other, but instead brothers that had reunited after so many years of being apart.


End file.
